


Translucentica Heights

by Gourmet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourmet/pseuds/Gourmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If anyone was spending time in Red Alert’s berth, it was Inferno."</p>
<p>Except, no. He wasn't. But someone else was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translucentica Heights

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not stare too hard at the mindless mash of canons here. I have a great need for Mirage/Red Alert in my life and I found a way to make it work. Also posting this in two parts because the other half is almost finished, and I needed the motivation to get it done.

**Part One**

Everyone assumed it was Inferno. 

It made sense, after all. Most days, Inferno was the only one who seemed able to back Red Alert down from whatever ledge he worked himself up onto. Inferno had saved him. Red Alert trusted him - at least to whatever extent Red Alert could really trust another mech. They were friends. They were close. 

If anyone was spending time in Red Alert’s berth, it was Inferno. 

But they were friends. They were close. So Inferno didn’t see the need to correct anyone. That was Red Alert’s business, not the rest of the Ark’s. And if he couldn’t get Red Alert to wind down, he knew who to turn to. 

He didn’t know all the details to the story, but he knew enough. It was rare that he could get Red Alert to fully relax, much less overcharged, but there were occasions, and Inferno liked to take advantage of them when he could. If anyone on the Ark was usually in need of a strong cube of high grade, it was Red Alert. And with those indulgences few and far between, it never took much. That was how he’d heard about it the first time, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the side of Red Alert’s berth, watching his friend finally abandon his desk chair in favor of dropping heavily onto the ground beside him. Inferno had laughed and hooked an arm around Red Alert’s shoulders to keep him steady, unsurprised when the smaller bot’s helm knocked against his shoulder plating. 

“You all right, there, Red?” he’d asked, still chuckling to himself. And he wouldn’t have been surprised if Red Alert hadn’t answered, but he did eventually speak up. The first attempt was all slurred static, but he at least seemed aware enough to realize he hadn’t said anything comprehendible. Still slurred, but understandable on the second attempt. 

“Should’ve invited Mirage.”

“What?” Inferno had prompted, confused, and not entirely sure Red Alert had spoken correctly. 

“Mirage. Shoulda...asked if he wanted to-” he cut himself off, vocalizer hitching briefly before his optics shuttered and he sank heavier against Inferno’s side, only mumbling unintelligibly when Inferno had tried to press for more information. 

Mirage? It was a little surprising that Red Alert had actually suggested wanting anyone else around after hours, but Inferno could have understood that as finally getting through to him. He spent plenty of time telling their Security Officer that he should try actually conversing with the rest of the Ark instead of just listening in on their conversations with each other. But of all the bots he’d have expected Red Alert to finally be willing to open up to, Mirage was not even on the list. 

Not that he had anything against Mirage, per se, but everyone knew he wasn’t exactly in favor of the war. Worse yet, there were plenty of rumors about Mirage being a sympathizer to the Decepticons, if not their cause. And while Inferno didn’t necessarily believe they had any reason not to trust Mirage, Red Alert was prone to distrusting bots with better reputations over far less concerning rumors.

Naturally, when he’d attempted to broach the subject the next day, Red Alert had simply scowled and kicked him out of the security office, blaming him for the ache in his processor and _“Honestly, Inferno, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

Of course Inferno didn’t actually believe that. But he and Red Alert were friends. They were _close._ He knew what it took to get Red Alert to talk to him. 

The next time he convinced Red Alert to have a cube with him, he was more mindful of how much he was drinking. And, okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly the most morally sound method of getting Red Alert to confide in him, but he was curious. He could have gone to Mirage, of course, but odds were he’d have no idea what Inferno was talking about. And if Red Alert was actually, honest to Primus, attracted to another mech, he didn’t want to ruin that or betray his trust by running off and spilling his secret. Besides, if he knew for sure that was the situation, he could help! Sometimes Red Alert needed a push in the right direction. 

And apparently, Mirage had already give him that push. 

Inferno shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. This wasn’t a crush. 

It was a full on affair. 

And there certainly wasn’t anything _wrong_ with that, but it made him wonder how in the Pit things had gone on for so long without another spark on the Ark being any wiser to it. He was friendly and had drinks with Red Alert, and the entire crew assumed they were going to announce themselves as bondmates any cycle from now. Mirage and Red Alert were fragging, regularly, and he couldn’t even remember a time he’d noticed them speaking outside of a mission. 

At first, he felt guilty. How had he not known about this? He and Red Alert were _friends!_ They were _close!_ Was he so self-centered he hadn’t noticed the two of them? Sure, the rest of the Ark could be excused of their misinformed assumptions - most of them didn’t spend that much time with Red Alert. And half the crew still maintained a certain modicum of distance from Mirage - just in case. But if anyone should have noticed, it was Inferno. 

It took him a bit longer to realize why he hadn’t. 

Red Alert was their Chief Security Officer. He knew every inch of the Ark and everyone’s day to day patterns. 

Mirage was one of their best spies. He could throw his appearance or vanish from a room entirely without drawing an ounce of attention. 

They hadn’t wanted anyone to know. 

If it had been anyone else, Inferno might have been somewhat hurt by that realization. But ultimately, it was Red Alert. Who knew how long it was going to take him to decide to open up about something as intimate as, well, his intimacies? Unsurprisingly, without the encouragement of high grade, Red Alert was far less forthcoming with information. But Inferno promised to keep his secret and had simply squeezed his shoulder and smiled, insisted he was happy as long as Red Alert was happy. 

“It started before the war,” Red Alert had eventually admitted, venting hard. And for all his open agitation, Inferno saw the information for what it was. Trust. “When I worked at Translucentica Heights. Mirage owned a complex there for when he stayed in Iacon.” 

“Yeah? I had no idea,” he said, and that seemed to please Red Alert well enough. He didn’t press for anything more specific than that. Not from Red Alert, at least. 

But he was still a little curious, and that ultimately led him to Mirage himself. By the time he actually approached the other mech, Mirage knew what he was there for. 

“I’m surprised,” Mirage offered over a cube, leaning back in his seat. It was late and the Rec Room was empty otherwise. As long as they didn’t count the cameras. “That you found out on your own, I mean. I assumed Red would tell you.” 

Inferno shrugged. “Well, you know how he is,” he pointed out before glancing in the direction of the camera situated across the room. “Better than I do, I guess.” 

“Mm, I wouldn’t necessarily say better,” Mirage said, all cultured vowels and proper hums as he lifted his cube for another sip. “Perhaps just in a different way. But yes, I do know how he can be.” 

It was silent in the break room for several kliks after that. Mirage seemed unconcerned with it, drinking quietly, and it was Inferno who eventually broke the quiet. “...Was he always like this?” 

Mirage chuckled. “Yes. Not to this...extent,” he said, optics flicking briefly in the direction of the camera as well before falling back on Inferno. “But he was always exceedingly cautious. At least for as long as I’ve known him.” 

He nodded slightly. “Then how did the two of you…I mean, if Red’s always been like this, how did you….?” 

The question trailed off and Mirage chuckled again, quietly. He finished his cube and set it on the table between them before lacing his fingers and bracing his elbows there. He smiled lightly when he set his chin against his knuckles. 

“Patiently.”

///

Mirage _had_ been patient.

There was really no other way to go about it with Red Alert. Aside from his tightly wound disposition, he was also an employee in Mirage’s complex. Their warden. It was a position he took seriously, which made the process of coaxing him out of that role when they were together an arduous one. His commitment was certainly admirable, and his work impeccable. But separating him from that was no small task.

He’d started with small things. Stopping in to chat when Red Alert was on duty - under the pretense of being a concerned resident, of course. Brushing his shoulder or arm in greeting when he crossed paths with him on his checks. Little, friendly gestures. A means of making the other mech comfortable around him - or at least making himself familiar to him. And he noticed when it started to have an effect. Red Alert finally participated in their talks outside of the formal, clipped answers he’d originally received. He stopped tensing or side-stepping him every time Mirage got a servo too close to him. He looked up from his monitors and, once in a while, smiled when he approached. 

The gifts were not so readily accepted. They were, however, quite effective - albeit not in quite the manner he’d been expecting. 

For Mirage, who had never wanted for anything and spent most of his time with those in a similar economic standing, lavish gifts were simply a part of the courting process. Expensive high grade and imported energon treats should have been the first step. Instead, it was several days after he’d gotten them delivered to the warden’s office - and several joors later than he preferred to have company - that there was a series of quick, heavy knocks against his door. 

“Red Alert,” he said, smiling when he spotted the pretty red mech on his doorstep. His smile slipped when he saw the decorative boxes of his gifts balanced between his hands. 

“I can’t accept these,” Red Alert offered in lieu of a greeting, thrusting both boxes out towards him without looking up from the tip of his pedes.

Mirage lifted an optic ridge and reached out, setting his fingertips against the back of Red Alert’s hands and pushing them lightly back. “Of course you can. They’re gifts.”

That, at least, was enough to get Red Alert’s optics on him, and he frowned, holding them out again. “I can’t accept gifts from anyone in the community. It’s against procedure and wildly inappropriate. It could be construed as a bribe or suggest favoritism to other residents,.” 

Mirage touched several blue fingers to his own chest plates and smiled out at Red Alert. “Am I not your favorite resident?” he asked, withholding a chuckle when the warden’s backstruts pulled up taunt and he floundered, briefly but visibly. But he wasn’t out to embarrass the other mech, so Mirage smiled again and reached out, touching Red Alert’s arm. 

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to thank you for all the hard work you’ve been doing. I hadn’t realized there was such a firm policy against gifts.” 

At that, Red Alert relaxed. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but he did ease into something less painfully tense. “I….appreciate the gesture, but it isn’t necessary,” he said, holding the gifts back out, and Mirage reluctantly took them from him. Oh well, he would just have to try a different route.

“Would you like to come inside?” 

Red Alert cycled his optics in surprise and shifted very slightly, as if his original intent had been to turn his head. Perhaps to check the corridor for someone else the question was being presented to. But there was no one else out, and when he didn’t immediately back away or protest, Mirage smiled, wider, and put a hand on Red Alert’s arm, pulling him gently inside. He vented unsteadily and made a noise that was clearly protesting, but his pedes still followed Mirage’s guidance forward, and it took little effort after that to get him into a comfortable seat in his sitting room. 

At least, it should have been comfortable. You would never have guessed as much by the way the warden was fidgeting. He fisted his servos against his knees as he glanced around the room, and Mirage had to wonder if he was actually giving his attention to the decorum or if he was tracking exits. He reached over, laying a servo gently against one of the wheels rounding at the end of Red Alert’s shoulders, and he wasn’t terribly surprised when the red mech jolted in his seat. 

“Relax,” he insisted, brushing his thumb lightly against the rubber under it, and if he noticed that Red Alert’s frame was a bit warmer than usual, which he did, he didn’t comment on it. 

“What are you doing?” Red Alert asked, frowning when Mirage pulled away and turned to open the boxes he’d sent to the security office. 

“If you can’t accept them as gifts, you can at least accept them as a guest in my home,” Mirage offered, pressing a cube into Red Alert’s hands and watching him fumble to keep a hold of it less it be spilled. 

Unsurprisingly, he shook his helm, holding it back out to him. “I can’t accept this,” he protested, but Mirage simply moved to take a seat across from him, sipping on his own. 

“Of course you can. You wouldn’t be here if you were still on duty, and I’m simply being courteous to a guest. It would be rude not to accept, wouldn’t it?” 

Red Alert faltered and glanced helplessly down towards the cube. “....I...I suppose so,” he agreed reluctantly. Mirage offered him what he hoped was a soothing sort of smile and unboxed the energon treats as well. 

“I just want to know if you like them. If not, by all means, you don’t have to keep eating or drinking it,” he assured him, and that eased the set of Red Alert’s shoulders somewhat. 

Of course, Mirage had impeccable taste, if he did say so himself, and he was immensely pleased when Red Alert agreed, going so far as to accept a second cube and another few energon treats after some prodding on Mirage’s part. He was a sweet thing, Mirage decided, oddly pleased to see him refueling and charmed by how quickly his optics went bright and a little unfocused. He suspected Red Alert didn’t partake in high grade enough to recognize the strength of what he’d been drinking. He couldn’t imagine he’d have willingly allowed himself to become overcharged so quickly. 

Mirage felt a bit guilty for letting him get to that point, but he honestly hadn’t suspected the high grade to take root as fast as it did. And it was hard not to enjoy his company. Even overcharged, he was mindful of what information he gave, but this was still a warmer side of Red Alert that Mirage hadn’t fully experienced before. A personable side. One that almost seemed at ease sitting across from him. And Mirage did like the look of him there. For being so jittery, the red and white of his paintjob was bold - striking and glossy even in the low lighting of his sitting room. He was lovely. Too much so to spend his days locked up in security offices, surrounded by monitors and cameras. Well, maybe not so much the cameras. If they were directed at him. 

And wasn’t _that_ a pleasant thought?

By the time he steered himself away from that line of fantasy, Red Alert had gone off on a tangent of some sort about new security protocols he wanted to implement, and the passion was attractive. Attractive enough for Mirage to reach across the space between them and put his fingers against a white faceplate. Red Alert immediately fell silent, optics cycling in their attempt to focus properly on him when Mirage leaned in after his servo. But Mirage didn’t give him much time to process - or rather, over process - what was happening before he pressed his mouth against his. 

There was a delightful hitch in Red Alert’s vents, and Mirage pressed closer, working them slowly through the kiss so as not to spook the twitchy mech. A noise rose up from Red Alert’s vocalizer, a thready, uncertain sound, and Mirage eased back, reaching up to pet the side of Red Alert’s helm gently. 

“Shh, it’s all right,” he promised before dipping down to take his mouth again, letting his fingers wander up, and he skimmed his thumb up along the edge of one of those red horns, enjoying the way Red Alert’s vents briefly stalled and a shudder ran out across his chassis. “Sensitive here?” he murmured against his mouth as he pinched the squared edge of a horn between his thumb and forefinger, and he was rewarded by the sound of Red Alert’s cooling fans kicking on. 

“Mi-Mirage,” he stammered, and his tone was so uncertain, Mirage sat back, cupping his faceplates between his hands. 

“I’ve got you. It’s all right,” he repeated, pressing his lipplates to the edge of Red Alert’s mouth before he reached over and gently took the nearly-empty cube out of the warden’s fingers, setting it on the low table between their seats. 

Red Alert was still venting hard, and his frame was hot to the touch, but the reassurance seemed to have calmed him again, somewhat. Pleased, Mirage reached down and took either of Red Alert’s servos in his own, lifting them to kiss his knuckles before straightening and stepping back, pulling Red Alert with him. The red mech stumbled slightly when he was on his pedes before righting himself. 

“I...I should go,” he realized, out loud, forcing his optics to focus. 

Mirage didn’t frown, although he was tempted to. He did, however, reach up and brush his fingers against the edge of his horn again. “So soon?” 

But Red Alert seemed to have fought control over some of his focus, and while a spark of charge followed Mirage’s fingers, he took a quick step back. Optics irising a little wider open and fans churning harder to try and fight down his rising core temperature. “I ha-have to go,” he said that time, a pleasantly staticy tone to his voice. 

Mirage considered tempting him to stay, taking his helm in his servos again, pulling him into another kiss. Getting his fingers between the plating where his chassis and wheel met. He had a feeling if he pushed, he could convince him to stay. But Red Alert took his silence as acquiescence and mumbled something - a word of thanks? an apology? - before all but darting out of the room the way he’d been let in. 

Mirage let out a huff through his vents, left alone with his gifts and the rotary of his own cooling fans. Clearly, a gentler touch was needed if he was ever going to see the warden in his berth.


End file.
